June 1905, somewhere in the Peruvian jungle….

Elizabeth reached up and brushed the damp hair from her forehead. She blew out a breath as a trickle of perspiration traveled down her spine, running beneath the laces of her corset and soaking into the already overly damp muslin shirtwaist, certainly leaving a stain. “Insufferable heat.” A thick vine dangled in her face, taunting her. “Hell would certainly be cooler and much more comfortable. Ooooh—these bloody flies are a nuisance.” She swatted at a buzzing insect, missed, and took a half-hearted whack at the overgrowth with her machete.

She could only blame herself since she’d insisted they could move faster if they let her help and had refused to take no for an answer. Ah, but she had learned the hard way. Some work suited men much better, especially since they weren’t draped in acres of fabric. If she’d known cutting a path would take so much work, she would have kept her mouth shut.

“Mind your language. A lady doesn’t curse. It shows ill-breeding, though at times when I hear you speak, it makes me wonder if I should have shipped you off to my sister’s when your mother passed. I should not have let you spend all your time around the institute. I fear it’s put bad ideas in your head and foul words in your mouth.”

“It is just so—”

Her father glanced over his shoulder. “You insisted, Elizabeth. I don’t want to hear your complaints.”

“I did not insist on this sticky humidity or the bugs, and I most certainly didn’t insist on wearing a skirt and corset into the jungle. And these boots are much more suited to a country outing. I have blisters on the tops of my toes, for heaven’s sake. If only you’d let me wear the dunnage—”

“Clothes, Elizabeth. Don’t speak like a Philistine. We are not discussing that again. I will not have my daughter traipsing about in men’s breeches. I raised a young lady, not a son.”